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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27720527">Hold on to let go</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/motionalocean/pseuds/motionalocean'>motionalocean</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Inception (2010)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Canon Compliant, Established Relationship, Found Family, M/M, Post-Canon, Reconciliation, Reunions, Thanksgiving</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 16:36:15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,149</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27720527</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/motionalocean/pseuds/motionalocean</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Eames maneuvers Arthur into inviting Dom and his kids to Thanksgiving. It goes better than anyone expects, except for Phillipa, who really wants a food fight.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Arthur &amp; Dom Cobb, Arthur/Eames (Inception)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>33</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Hold on to let go</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“What are you thinking of for Thanksgiving?” Eames asked out of the blue, one day in early November.</p>
<p>“You don’t celebrate it,” Arthur replied.</p>
<p>“I <em>didn’t</em> celebrate it,” Eames corrected. “But what’s not to love about a holiday that involves days of domesticity followed by eating oneself into satiated bliss?”</p>
<p>He had a point, but it was the way the word <em>domesticity</em> rolled out of his mouth and through the air, so posh and proper and yet so very filthy, that had Arthur pushing away from his laptop and climbing into Eames’ lap. “I can think of another way to satiate you,” he smirked.</p>
<p>--</p>
<p>He brought it up again the next day. They were sitting in Arthur’s living room outside L.A, Arthur wrapping up a consulting project and Eames amusing himself with popular news. His socked feet were up on the coffee table, his shirt buttoned only halfway up, and his five-o’clock shadow was more of a second-week shadow.</p>
<p>“What’s your favorite Thanksgiving dish?” he asked.</p>
<p>Arthur rolled his eyes. “Why are you so fixated on Thanksgiving?”</p>
<p>“I’m not fixated.” He pushed his glasses up and turned the page of his magazine with a much-practiced air of indifference that said he could spend the rest of the day in one spot.</p>
<p>“Jesus, when are you getting another job, Eames?” It was a constant cycle. Arthur would wake up one morning to find Eames in his kitchen, making tea. They’d fuck for a few days before settling down into a bit more of a stable routine. But Eames could only stay in one place for so long before either he got sticky fingers that made local shop owners side-eye him, or Arthur kicked him out. He’d work a job for a few weeks or a few months, then wind up again on Arthur’s doorstep.</p>
<p>Eames smiled. Most of his face was hidden by trashy tabloid, but the crinkle around his eyes was enough to know. “After Thanksgiving.”</p>
<p>“No, not fixated at all,” Arthur murmured.</p>
<p> Eames hummed in agreement.</p>
<p>--</p>
<p>Arthur’s personal cell – one he never used on jobs – rang, and he didn’t hesitate to put it to his ear. “Yes?”</p>
<p>“Arthur, it’s Dominick.”</p>
<p>Only years of quick reflexes prevented the phone from ending up shattered on the floor. Arthur took a moment to look at the screen. The number was unlisted. Of course.</p>
<p>“Arthur?”</p>
<p>He sighed and rubbed his forehead with the heel of his hand. “Why are you calling me, Cobb?” The question was more tired than interrogative. He hadn’t talked to Dom in – Jesus, must be two years now. The fact that they were both still alive was probably a good argument for continuing that arrangement.</p>
<p>“Eames told me you were in town, said something cryptic about the past being the past and all being thankful for the future. It sounded ominous, so I thought I’d check in.”</p>
<p>Another sigh threatened to escape Arthur’s tight-pursed lips. He wished Eames was at home so he could throw the damn phone at him. And then make him buy a new one.</p>
<p>“Thankful, huh. I guess he decided to stop being subtle.”</p>
<p>His only answer was some fuzzy commotion, footsteps and laughing before Cobb’s muted voice yelling for someone to quiet down.</p>
<p>When the fuzz went away – probably his hand on the mic – his voice had the remnants of a smile. “Sorry, the kids just got home from school. What were you saying?”</p>
<p>Arthur figured there were two roads he could take. One would keep him bitter and shut off, earn a shake of the head from Eames and an imaginary scolding from his grandmother, assuming she was looking down on him from the great bridge game in the sky. The other option would probably, as previously determined, shorten his life expectancy.</p>
<p>He never could deal with Gram’s disappointment.</p>
<p>Bracing himself for Eames’ future smirk, he asked, “Would you like to come by for Thanksgiving?”</p>
<p>There was a pause.</p>
<p>“Thanks, Arthur. Actually… yeah, I think we’ll take you up on that. It’d be good to see you. Phillipa has asked after you an awful lot.”</p>
<p>Arthur had his mouth open to say <em>Christ, Cobb, no kids in my apartment</em>, but closed it with a snap. Of course he’d bring them. It was Thanksgiving, for God’s sake. “Well, you just tell Phillipa…” What could he tell Phillipa, he didn’t even know how old she was, he didn’t remember how to be Uncle Arthur anymore. “You tell her to bring pie, alright?”</p>
<p>High-pitched shrieks came faintly through the phone, and he held it off his ear until Cobb’s smoother voice dominated again. “I think you just made her day. Be prepared for an apple-pecan-toffee-fudge monstrosity. She experiments,” he warned.</p>
<p>“I’m sure it’ll be great. And Cobb – bring something stronger for the adults?”</p>
<p>“Will do. See you Thursday. It’s really good to hear you, Arthur.”</p>
<p>“You too, Dom. See you next week.”</p>
<p>He closed his phone and his eyes, breathed, opened them again, and sent a quick text to Eames: <em>You are in big trouble.</em></p>
<p>He didn’t even have to wait thirty seconds. <em>You talked, then?</em></p>
<p>
  <em>Rhubarb-chocolate-walnut pie, Eames.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Sounds delightful.</em>
</p>
<p>Arthur glared at his phone. <em>Big trouble.</em></p>
<p>--</p>
<p>Eames was, apparently, contrite enough to do the bulk of the cooking. Or maybe he didn’t trust that Arthur wouldn’t poison everything. Which was ridiculous, he’d only ever tried to poison someone once. Seriously, crooks held the craziest grudges.</p>
<p>Anyway, Arthur woke up alone the Wednesday before Thanksgiving and padded down the hall to find Eames already in the kitchen with his hand inside a turkey’s… well, Arthur couldn’t really tell which end it was. He took in the sight for a few moments. Eames’ hair was in its standard side-combed state, his sleeves were rolled up past the elbow, and he wore a dark green paisley apron that came from God knew where. He’d shaved a few days ago, thank goodness, but still sported some stubble that Arthur only objected to in the light of day. His attention was so focused on delving into the bird’s innards that Arthur had an odd flashback to the night before, when all that attention had been directed, in a similar fashion, at himself. Clearing his throat, he shook his head to get rid of the image – the poor turkey was most definitely not enjoying it as much as he had – and made a beeline for the coffee.</p>
<p>“You do realize Thanksgiving is <em>tomorrow</em>, right?” he asked after the first sip jumpstarted his brain.</p>
<p>Eames now had his hand under the skin of the poor thing. It looked like an alien crawling around just out of sight. Arthur shuddered.</p>
<p>“Brining, dearest Arthur. Everyone knows one must brine the day before.”</p>
<p>“Uh huh,” Arthur replied, trying to remember whether Thanksgiving preparations in his parents’ house had ever started the day before, and was vaguely ashamed to realize he’d never paid attention. “Isn’t that a bit large for the five of us? We probably could have just gotten one of those pre-cooked deals from the store.”</p>
<p>The look Eames laid on him was so full of understated horror and disappointment that Arthur had to look away. “Fine, whatever. Let me know if you need something. Otherwise, I guess I’ll leave you to it.” He opened the fridge to pull out the milk for cereal, and paused. “Eames,” he said. “Why are there two other birds in here?”</p>
<p>The side of Eames’ mouth quirked up, and his eyes sparkled with mirth. When he explained, Arthur forgot all about breakfast as he collapsed in laughter on the floor of his kitchen.</p>
<p>--</p>
<p>The doorbell rang at 4:17 the afternoon of Thanksgiving, which was 47 minutes after Arthur had said they could arrive. But it was 13 minutes before the main dish was coming out of the oven, so there was no real need to be upset.</p>
<p>The doorbell rang three more times before Arthur managed to get to the door. He tried not to be upset about that, either, as it reminded him to brace mentally for small children in his apartment. He checked the peep-hole and pulled the door open with a smile that was only slightly forced.</p>
<p>“Uncle Arthur!”</p>
<p>Phillipa was the first through the door, her arms launching around Arthur’s middle. They didn’t quite topple over, mostly because Arthur’s mental bracing had also taken the form of physical bracing. His arms folded around her carefully, humbled by her carefree exuberance.</p>
<p>“Hey, kiddo,” he told her. “I missed you.”</p>
<p>She pulled back and looked up at him seriously. “I brought pie. Give me the biggest slice for dessert and I’ll forgive you.”</p>
<p>Arthur couldn’t help but laugh. “Extortion, I love it. You drive a hard bargain, but it’s yours. Go say hi to Eames, he’s in the kitchen.”</p>
<p>Phillipa ran off, not bothering to kick off her shoes.</p>
<p>James had grown a lot in the years since Arthur had seen him, and looked out shyly from behind his dad’s leg.</p>
<p>“You remember Uncle Arthur?” Dom asked, encouraging him to come out. James shook his head.</p>
<p>Arthur squatted down until he was level with James, and held out his hand. “I’m Arthur,” he said. “It’s nice to meet you.”</p>
<p>James stared at his hand for a moment before darting out, shaking it quickly, and then following his sister into the house. Dom shook his head with a wry smile. “He’ll warm up. He’s been hearing stories from Phillipa all day, he’s probably a little intimidated.”</p>
<p>“Stories?” Arthur asked. He pushed to his feet. Dom looked the same, but softer somehow. His hair was a bit grayer, but there was an ease to his face and shoulders that Arthur hadn’t seen since the early years.</p>
<p>“Her memories of you have morphed a bit, over the years. Don’t be surprised to find out you have several different careers that might include theater and/or being a mortician.”</p>
<p>Arthur’s eyebrows raised. “Sounds like you’ve got quite a storyteller in the family. I can’t wait to hear about it.” He held out his hand. Dom took it, and then pulled him in for a one-armed hug with two pats on the back, which Arthur mirrored.</p>
<p>“It’s good to see you. Come on in. Want something to drink? Food’s just about ready.”</p>
<p>--</p>
<p>Eames had rather outdone himself with the spread. It barely fit on the table, even with a leaf in, and the kids were awestruck. James was gaping, his jaw dropping lower and lower the longer he stared.</p>
<p>“Turducken,” Cobb said slowly, looking at the browned dish on the table with no small amount of skepticism.</p>
<p>“You haven’t tried it before?” Arthur asked, pulling out the carving knife and getting to work. Eames tried to get in the way, but he waved him off. If the knife came a little close to Eames’ nose, well, that wasn’t his fault. “I thought it’d be your Thanksgiving meal of choice.”</p>
<p>“Why’s that?” Cobb asked. “Because I’d rather die of a heart attack than a bullet to the head?”</p>
<p>“No, no,” Eames jumped in. “Because it’s poultry… within poultry,” he leaned close and whispered the final, “…within poultry.”</p>
<p>Cobb froze, eyes going squinty as if he wasn’t sure whether he should run or not. Arthur hid his smile with years of practice, but Eames was practically gleeful.</p>
<p>“Um,” Dom muttered. In the silence that followed, he opened and closed his mouth a few times. Arthur <em>really</em> wanted to know what he was thinking.</p>
<p>“I bet I could tunnel all the way through that,” James eventually said in awe, breaking the tension. “But I’d probably get stuck in the middle.”</p>
<p>“And then you’d wake up in the gizzards of an emu,” Eames said cheerfully. “Destined to go mad unless you can eat your way out again.”</p>
<p>Phillipa rolled her eyes. “That doesn’t make sense. Emus are bigger than turkeys.”</p>
<p>“You’re very correct,” Eames told her somberly. “Dom, which level would you prefer?”</p>
<p>Arthur couldn’t help his snort, this time. Dom looked at them both and rolled his eyes. “I guess I deserve all of this. So long as you’re not trying to drag me back to work. Any more jokes?”</p>
<p>Arthur contemplated the mass of bird in front of him. “You know, this doesn’t seem quite right.” He stabbed the entire thing with his carving fork and flipped it over. The juices splattered a little, and Arthur was glad Eames had bribed him into wearing an apron. “How’s that look?” He tipped it up on one end. “No, I think the first way around was better.” He let it tumble down again. “God, this thing is heavy. Could really do with some anti-gravity right now.”</p>
<p>“You gonna blow it up, too?” Dom asked, finally cracking a smile. “Give it a kick across the room?”</p>
<p>James stood up abruptly. “No!” he yelled. “You’re not allowed to play with your food!”</p>
<p>Phillipa looked delighted at the idea of pyroclastic dinner. “Food fight! Food fight!” She banged her fork against the table edge. Eames joined in, because he was also a child.</p>
<p>Arthur lost it, just stabbed the knife into the turducken and had to sit down from laughter. James kept yelling until Dom ruffled his hair, and Arthur finally managed to pull himself together and carve up the meal. God, he’d forgotten how much he loved Dom’s kids.</p>
<p>--</p>
<p>“Did I ever tell you,” Arthur asked, when the kids had settled on the floor of the dining room holding stuffed tummies and the three adults had retreated to the couch, “that I’m glad you got back?”</p>
<p>Dom paused with a glass of wine halfway to his mouth. He looked thoughtful, as if Arthur’s question wasn’t rhetoric.</p>
<p>“I’m pretty sure until this week you hadn’t spoken to me since the second level of Fischer,” he said eventually.</p>
<p>Arthur winced. It was true. Even with the relief of seeing Dom and Saito awaken on the plane after their trip to limbo, Arthur hadn’t dared risk the job by congratulating Dom. And after they landed, when the team had scattered back to their various safe houses, Arthur had taken the time to write a full report on the job, for his private files. In writing it, he had relived all the emotions from the first two levels, Dom’s betrayal and Yusuf’s deception, and he just… couldn’t put it aside. Even the knowledge that it had worked, the satisfaction of Cobb getting back to his kids, the prestige the rumors had given them all in the community, none of it erased the knowledge that Cobb had gotten Mal lost in limbo, escaped in a way that ultimately resulted in her death, and had then turned around and risked the rest of them, too.</p>
<p>He’d checked in on the family for the first year, making sure that Cobb didn’t attract any unsavory attention from old enemies. He told himself it was for the sake of the children, because they didn’t deserve to lose their father again after all that had happened. But he felt no desire to reform his association with Dom. And so, when it seemed that he had fully reintegrated into the legal side of life, Arthur had stopped even checking up on them.</p>
<p>He didn’t apologize, now. That was a two-way street, and even though the sting of betrayal had faded, it still hurt. Cobb was out of the community, so there was no point in making it an issue, but he figured he didn’t owe him anything.</p>
<p>“Well, I am,” he said. “Glad. The kids seem to be doing alright. It’s really nice to see them again.” <em>Mal would be proud</em>, he didn’t say. It was true, but that felt like too big a wound to poke around in. He’d save that for another day, when everything else had healed up a little more.</p>
<p>Dom nodded. “They’re great. I can’t believe we went so long without…” He swallowed, then looked up and met Arthur’s eyes. He had an intense, pinched look on his face that Arthur recognized from his years on the run, but hadn’t seen at all tonight. “None of it would have been possible without you.”</p>
<p>Arthur felt his shoulders drop, felt muscles unclench and his spine straighten. He took a deep breath. There it was, Dom’s gratitude and apology all rolled into one, only recognizable if you knew how to read it. They’d spent so long working together, trying to get him home, and all that time Dom had never stopped to thank Arthur. Sure, the work had been lucrative. But it had all been for Dom’s sake, and he’d been too focused on his end goal to pay attention to how it was dragging Arthur down.</p>
<p>But this evening had been none of that. It had been – refreshing. Tentative, feeling each other out, unsure of how they fit without work, but ultimately finding the common ground that had brought them together years before. It felt familiar, and hopeful.</p>
<p>Biting his lip, Arthur looked up to meet Dom’s eyes and nodded, sharply, a quick jab of his chin downward. “Thank you.”</p>
<p>--</p>
<p>Later, after James had conked out on the couch and Phillipa was blinking hard to stay awake, Dom gave Arthur a longer hug at the door. “I missed you,” he said, holding on tightly. “I don’t want to take you for granted again. Don’t let me, okay?”</p>
<p>“Alright.” Arthur squeezed and released. “I’ll call you next week with thoughts on Phillipa’s birthday.”</p>
<p>Dom huffed a laugh. “I’m pretty sure she’ll have it planned out to perfection.”</p>
<p>“Well then maybe I’ll call her and see how I can assist.”</p>
<p>“She’ll have you wrapped around her finger in no time.” Dom crossed to the couch and picked up Phillipa, who mumbled a sleepy good-night as Arthur brushed a hand across her hair. Eames already had James cradled close, and followed Dom out to strap the kiddo in his car seat.</p>
<p>They watched the car drive away from the front porch. Eames wrapped his arms around Arthur from behind and nibbled on his ear.</p>
<p>“You think you’re clever, don’t you?” Arthur asked.</p>
<p>Eames hummed in his ear.</p>
<p>“That could have gone horribly.”</p>
<p>“But it didn’t,” Eames murmured.</p>
<p>“Are you trying to tell me you want to retire?”</p>
<p>“Not yet, darling. I just knew you missed them.”</p>
<p>Arthur hugged his arms around Eames’ and tilted his head back to look at the sky. No stars were visible, but he remembered a night Mal had dragged him and Dom out to stargaze, lying on a blanket and pointing out constellations to each other. He saw it again now, with Eames wrestling James in the grass and Phillipa telling him the stories of the stars and Dom leaving room on the blanket for Mal. He closed his eyes and let himself bask in the possibilities.</p>
<p>“Thank you,” he said, belly full and heart warm. “I did.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I wrote most of this this many years ago for the entire purpose of making the turducken poultry-within-poultry joke, but never managed to wrap it up until now. Apparently 2020 me also wanted to tell a story of reconnection and found families. Go figure. Hopefully they blended together in a way that kind of made sense. </p>
<p>While this story is about moving forward and forgiving the errors of the past, real life isn't so feel-good. Thanksgiving is a colonialist lie. Please listen to and support indigenous voices.</p>
<p>
  <a href="https://www.culturalsurvival.org/news/9-ways-decolonize-and-honor-native-peoples-thanksgiving">https://www.culturalsurvival.org/news/9-ways-decolonize-and-honor-native-peoples-thanksgiving</a>
</p>
<p>
  <a href="https://www.mindbodygreen.com/articles/ways-to-support-indigenous-people">https://www.mindbodygreen.com/articles/ways-to-support-indigenous-people</a>
</p></blockquote></div></div>
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